


of all these years waiting

by buries



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Missing Scene, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 08:36:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11376528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buries/pseuds/buries
Summary: “your sister is commander of the universe, and clarke …” it’s her turn to swallow against the lump in her throat. “clarke will be there. she’ll be waiting for us.”or the one where bellamy and raven share a moment on the ark 2.0. scene in the s4 time-jump.





	of all these years waiting

**Author's Note:**

> it's been a bit of a while! my creativity tank has been running on empty, but since seeing the last five episodes of _the 100_ season 4, i just had to write an interim moment between raven and bellamy on the ark 2.0! this is set during the third year of their time in space. it's just a small snippet of something.
> 
> prompt: _i was the tired face lying next to you_. this is part of my camp nano goal.
> 
> title from courtesy of's _running touch_. unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine. thanks for reading. ♥

She comes back, as she always does. Except never how she leaves.

When she leaves, it’s with a skip to her step. There’s a childish innocence to the way she moves, throwing the sheets right off of her with a hard swipe of her arm, feet dropping onto the floor like it doesn’t hurt. She moves with a grace that’s younger than her years, but still contains that impenetrable confidence that’s strictly her.

Bellamy lies in bed, looking up at the ceiling. He counts the dots she’s marked there with a thick black marker. They’re her stars, she says. They’re the navigators who are going to guide them home. She looks at them and draws constellations with her fingers, joining the dots like she’d done so back in Camp Arkadia.

He can see the dots connecting together to form the stars she’s created, and the ones he’s helped her find. He can find them even without lifting his arm to trace them. It’s always been her job to be the artist, creating something out of nothing.

The Ark creaks and groans in a way that’s become unfamiliar. There was once a time where those sounds would calm him, console him during those times where the world seemed so tight and small and scary. But now he doesn’t like to hear it, the movement of the Ark as it floats in space. It’s too quiet, too haunting. It’s missing something. There’s no sounds of feet pounding against the floor as it had in Arkadia. It’s quiet, save for Monty’s laughter, Echo’s loud speeches trying to influence Harper she’s not a poor loser.

The door creaks despite her trying to be quiet. There’s a calmness to her now, the restless energy gone. Sliding into bed beside him, Raven throws her arm over his chest and her good leg over his. 

“How was it?” he asks.

“Amazing,” she says, voice almost singing. She’s quiet, despite the boisterous speeches she gives. “I’m waiting for the moment it stops being amazing.”

He pulls the sheets up over her, tucking it against her shoulder. Looking up at their sky, Bellamy can see her floating among them, connecting the stars together. He’d tried to draw a stick figure of her once up there, but hadn’t been successful in getting out of bed.

“How does it look?” he asks. He doesn’t ask specifics. How do the stars look with her amongst them? How does the galaxy appear from her viewpoint? What does the Earth look like? Less angry? Sad?

Truthfully, he doesn’t know what he’s asking about.

She moves beside him, getting comfortable. Her fingers tap against his collarbone, trying to connect her favourite stars together. Lifting her arm, she slides her finger delicately along the bridge of his nose, and he lets her.

“Lonely,” she says. Her fingers drop to his cheeks, connecting the galaxy of freckles as one. “Angry. It’s still red with rage. It kind of reminds me of Helios.”

Something stings inside of his chest at the mention of that name. Swallowing against the burning lump in his throat, he lifts his hand to wrap his fingers around her wrist.

“She’ll be okay,” Raven says. She lifts herself up so she can see him. He looks up at the stars on their ceiling instead. “Your sister is commander of the universe, and Clarke …” It’s her turn to swallow against the lump in her throat. “Clarke will be there. She’ll be waiting for us.”

“Waiting for another three years.”

“Still waiting,” Raven says, tipping her head up. “The only person who can beat her in being the most stubborn idiot on the planet is your sister. She learned that from a special someone.”

Turning his head to look at her, his lips curve upward when he sees her smiling, proud of herself for seeing him mimic it. 

“We’ll get there,” she says. She nods her head, determined. “With you and me at the wheel here, we’ll get there.”

He lifts his hand away from her wrist, wrapping his arm around her back instead. Raven lowers herself, cheek pressed against his shoulder.

“It was what she wanted,” Raven says. She’s said it before, over and over. Sometimes to him, sometimes to the space outside of their window. “She wanted us to survive. She didn’t die in vain.”

“But other people did.”

“That’s not on us.” He feels her shake her head. “That’s not us. That’s the people before us. The people who made that bunker. They did that, not us.”

He tilts his head so he can peer down at her. “Are you sure?”

Raven looks up at him. “Definitely,” she says. “You know your sister never would’ve let other people die if it wasn’t for that bunker.”

Bellamy looks up at the stars on their ceiling, and feels her lift her hand to press her fingers against his collarbone.

“I tried the radio while you were out,” he admits.

He can feel her shift, lifting her head again. The expression she’s bound to wear is of pity. He can hear the _Bellamy_ in her concerned tone without her needing to say his name.

“Doesn’t work.”

“I’m sorry,” she says. Her fingers resting against his exposed collarbone move, stroking in comfort. “Monty’s trying to fix it. Hell, Echo’s trying to fix it, and that girl doesn’t know how to turn anything on this ship on despite me telling her over and over.”

He cracks a smile, looking at her to see she’s sporting one. Echo pretends she doesn’t know how to turn the radio on because of something he’d said. Raven likes to feel useful, so Echo’s given her something to gnaw on. It’s an act of kindness, an attempt at atoning for something so old and forgotten amongst their small crew.

“She’s okay,” she says, pressing her fingers to the pulse in his neck before letting them slide away. “It’s Octavia. The radio may be down, but she isn’t.”

“I wish she was here.”

“I know,” she says. “I wish a lot of people were here. But it’s you and me, and the losers outside that door. We’ve got to make it another three years, and then we can see them again.”

He nods his head. She lowers herself, resting her head against his shoulder. Her fingers draw shapes on his collarbone, sliding up his neck lightly.

Staring up at their ceiling, he can see the stars, the constellations she’s mapped out and given stories to. There’s one for Helios, one for Octavia, and another for Clarke. There’s one for Sinclair, the biggest, brightest constellation in the galaxy.

He can feel her draw those shapes on his skin, slowly and delicately, dedicating time and patience to them. She draws him Sinclair, then Clarke, then Helios, Abby, and then Octavia. She draws beside hers a shape he recognises, figuring the constellation she’s created is his. It’s the only one she ever draws beside Octavia, aside from the cluster of stars that’s Lincoln.

“You with me?” she asks.

“Always,” he responds.


End file.
